


Fellowship of the Mutants

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drama, War of the Ring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2004-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-22 17:21:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 6,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3737219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Series of short stories that explore how the story might have been different if certain characters had the powers of Marvel characters.  I know, sounds silly, but just give it a chance.  These don't follow, really, because they couldn't all happen in the same universe.  Obviously, they're AU, as well.  There's also some OOCness in some of them, but that's because I blend the character's personalities a bit sometimes, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Revised Tale of Aragorn and Arwen

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

**

The Revised Tale of Aragorn and Arwen

**

The young Estel was but twenty years of age when he returned to Rivendell after sharing many adventures with Elrond’s sons. It was now that Elrond deemed right the time to tell him of his famous lineage, and called him by his true name of Aragorn.

The next day at sunset, Aragorn walked through the forest, singing, for his heart was glad and full of hope. And as he sang the Lay of Lúthien, it seemed to him as if the subject of his melody appeared before him. She was beautiful and ethereal as the Imladris twilight and she wore a crown like stars upon her brow.

Fearing the dream would pass too soon, Aragorn ran toward her, calling out, “Tinúviel, Tinúviel!” just as the man Beren had done in the Elder Days.

But then the world was enveloped in a scarlet light and he could see nothing. He felt a burning like a fire in his eyes and fell to his knees. From far away he thought he could hear a wail of anguish from some fair voice, blending with his own scream in a ghastly harmony. But soon the pounding of his own heart in his head drowned out both. He clenched tight his eyes in pain and knew nothing more for what seemed an age.

 

 


	2. Willow's Gambit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Series of short stories that explore how the story might have been different if certain characters had the powers of Marvel characters. I know, sounds silly, but just give it a chance. These don't follow, really, because they couldn't all happen in the same universe. Obviously, they're AU, as well. There's also some OOCness in some of them, but that's because I blend the character's personalities a bit sometimes, too.

**

Willow’s Gambit

**

The tree had swallowed Pippin and was doing a fine job on Merry. When Frodo and Sam saw what had happened to their friends, they ran at the tree, yelling, then beat the tree, trying to get it to release its captives.

“Help!” came Merry’s muffled cry from within the terrible bower.

“We’re trying!” Frodo told him.

“We’ll get you out of there,” Sam yelled, “Even if I have to gnaw the tree down.”

Getting an idea, Frodo ran to his pack and got a small hatchet. He started hacking at the branch, taking small pieces off but not really accomplishing much.

“Stop! Stop!” Merry yelled, “You’re hurting him. Ow! He’ll crush me!”

Frodo dropped the hatchet, but looked helpless. “Then what do I do?”

They tugged and pulled with all their might to loosen the grip the trunk and roots had on their friend, but it didn’t budge. Sam heaved and pushed and sweat beaded on his forehead at the exertion. Frodo let go again, paused to think of a better way. But Sam pressed on. It was as if he thought he could force the tree into submission by sheer force of will. Funny thing is, he was almost right.

He didn’t notice, but Frodo watched curiously as the bark around Sam’s hands started to glow. With no idea what it was or what it could mean, he just stared as the luminescence spread until it covered the whole tree. The glow grew brighter and he heard screams from within the tree.

“Sam...” he said at last.

It was enough to distract Sam, who lost his grip and tumbled backwards. The moment he did so, something altogether unexpected happened. The tree exploded.

Shards, branches and leaves flew everywhere and the hobbits shielded themselves with their arms. The sound was deafening, a boom and crack and wail all rolled into one terrible, unnatural clash. When the pieces stopped falling, Sam and Frodo both had a few bruises and splinters, but had mostly gotten away unscathed. They turned their wondrous eyes to where the tree had been.

“Oh, dear.” Sam muttered.


	3. The Condensed Council of Elrond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Series of short stories that explore how the story might have been different if certain characters had the powers of Marvel characters. I know, sounds silly, but just give it a chance. These don't follow, really, because they couldn't all happen in the same universe. Obviously, they're AU, as well. There's also some OOCness in some of them, but that's because I blend the character's personalities a bit sometimes, too.

  
**

The Condensed Council of Elrond

**

The lord of Imladris sat silently looking around the council circle. The cool breeze wafted through the trees and tossed up the ends of his hair. For a moment, he thought it might be nice to take a walk, then quashed the thought. Sometimes he really missed the use of his legs.

All around the circle, he could tell the others were waiting for him to start the meeting as they talked amongst themselves. They were all prepared for a day of conversation and decision-making. But he had a better idea.

He watched them carefully, sizing up each first by appearance. 'Too old...too young...too feeble...ugh, dwarves. But no,' he thought, 'appearances could be deceiving. Probably best not to even take them into account.'

So he settled back into his reason for gathering them all here so conveniently. With the careful precision that comes with centuries of practice and a subtlety that made his efforts imperceptible to his targets, he expanded his awareness until he could hear the thoughts of the others.

'When will this be over? I’ve got a smithy to get back to.'

'Who let all these dwarves in here?'

'Look at him. Smarmy elf.'

'I sure am looking pretty today. I hope the others are noticing.'

'Hey, a grasshopper. I wonder what grasshoppers taste like.'

Elrond paused. 'What the-' But he was stopped by a thought of such an unnerving nature that he didn’t even need to listen for it.

'The One Ring. That’s what father said. Where is it then? I’ll get it. I’ll steal it. No, impossible. I’ll convince them to let me take it. Yes, I’ll act noble, even helpful, then when I get the chance...'

'Okay, not sending the Gondorian,' Elrond thought, '...But who?' Again his mind reached out, touching many minds, until finding one that could have easily gone unnoticed.

'Why am I here? What right have I to sit alongside such great people? I only carried the Ring a short way. And now I wish to have no more to do with it, if that is possible. Yes, a nice long holiday here in Rivendell. That would be lovely.'

'Well,' thought Elrond, 'the hobbit it is, then.'

 


	4. Friendly Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Series of short stories that explore how the story might have been different if certain characters had the powers of Marvel characters. I know, sounds silly, but just give it a chance. These don't follow, really, because they couldn't all happen in the same universe. Obviously, they're AU, as well. There's also some OOCness in some of them, but that's because I blend the character's personalities a bit sometimes, too.

  
**

Friendly Eyes

**

Legolas had just grabbed hold of the mallorn branch high above his head and was swinging momentarily, when a sharp command came from somewhere in the trees above him.

“Daro!”

He immediately dropped to the ground, looking around in surprise and fear. He flattened himself against the trunk of the tree and in an insistent whisper told the others not to speak or move. The Company scanned the treetops, searching for the owner of the voice, but they could see no one.

A light, melodic laughter rang through the forest, drifting down to them through the leaves. The harshness was gone and soon a merry voice said, “You breathe so loud I could shoot you in the dark.”

The expressions of Aragorn and Legolas softened when they heard this, but the others still looked fearful and suspicious. They saw movement in the branches, but could not lock their gaze on what made it. Too soon to be human, a figure emerged from the shadows directly in front of them.

To most of the Company’s surprise, Aragorn approached the stranger, clapped a hand on his shoulder and smiled. “That is not a fair statement, mellon nin. Everyone you shoot is in the dark.”

The stranger laughed again and the hobbits’ fear passed, though Boromir and Gimli remained on guard. “Welcome, Aragorn son of Arathorn. And Legolas! It is too seldom that our northern kin visit these woods. This,” he said, taking a step toward Frodo, “must be the one we have heard rumors of.”

But as he spoke this last, all save elf and elf-friend blinked or raised their eyebrows in surprise. The stranger had stepped into the light, and they could see him quite well now. He was an elf, as they had guessed, tall and fair as the rest of his breed. But that is not what took them aback. It was his eyes. His eyes, which should by rights be as pale blue as Legolas’s, were all but completely white. Only the faintest shadow of what were once pupils showed in those milky orbs.

“That elf’s blind!” was the fist thing heard from Gimli, ever ready to point out flaws in those of the fairer race.

At this the elf did not laugh, but inclined his head toward Aragorn, “You brought a dwarf past our borders? That is not well. You know our laws will not allow him to pass.”

“He is a friend, Haldir,” Aragorn told him, “and a brave and faithful companion. He was appointed by Elrond himself to this quest.”

The elf thought for a moment before answering, “Very well. If you and Legolas will answer for him, he may pass. But he must go blindfolded through Lothlórien.”

“What?!” Gimli was all obstinate indignation, “I will not be treated like a prisoner because this elf begrudges others what he is obviously lacking himself.”

Legolas frowned at him and Aragorn hissed, “Gimli! Have some manners.”

“Tell that to him,” he persisted, “unless his hearing is as bad as his eyesight.” The dwarf laughed at his foolish insult. “How is he to stop us from proceeding? Why, I wager I could slip by and he wouldn’t even notice.”

At this, Gimli proceeded to shuffle back and forth, trying to be stealthy but failing miserably. The Company stared at him in wonder or shook their heads at his antics. He went one way, then the other, looking very much like a football player trying to get through the defensive line, all while Haldir just stood there, seeming not to notice. Finally, almost on tip-toe, he attempted to creep past Haldir down the path.

Just at the moment when he was closest to the elf and it seemed as if he may get past, Haldir sprung. One hand grabbed the dwarf by the neck and slammed him against a tree while the other drew a long knife and pressed it through Gimli’s beard, under his chin. It all happened so quickly that the dwarf could not even raise a hand in defense.

“It seems even a blind elf is more alert than a dwarf,” he said in a smooth voice, a smile threatening his lips.

But Gimli had a stiff neck, even when a knife was being held to it. “Perhaps you are not as helpless as you appear, but I still refuse to be led as a beggar.”

Haldir just sighed and released him, sheathing his blade.

“Enough, Gimli,” Aragorn said, then looked to Haldir, “If it is so hard a thing for the dwarf to be singled out, we shall all be blindfolded, even Legolas.”

He looked to Gimli, daring him to comment, but the dwarf took the hint. Though none looked too happy about it, especially Legolas and Gimli, they were all blindfolded.

Boromir grunted, “The going may be slow, and we may look like a troop of fools, but at least the dwarf will not be alone in his misery.”

“So it must be,” Aragorn said, “Lead on, Haldir.”

As they filed down the smooth path, Pippin grinned. “Should I say it, Merry?”

His cousin’s voice came from behind him, “No, Pippin, I really suggest you don’t.”

 


	5. Dreadful as the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Series of short stories that explore how the story might have been different if certain characters had the powers of Marvel characters. I know, sounds silly, but just give it a chance. These don't follow, really, because they couldn't all happen in the same universe. Obviously, they're AU, as well. There's also some OOCness in some of them, but that's because I blend the character's personalities a bit sometimes, too.

  
**

Dreadful as the Storm

**

“I will give you the One Ring. If you ask for it.”

Galadriel looked on the golden band that the small hobbit, so very small, held out in his open palm. She thought of all she could do with it, all it could do for her. The things they could do together...

“And now at last it comes,” she said deliberately, “You will give me the Ring freely!”

Suddenly, she lifted her arms and spread them out. A light shone on her, casting strange shadows on her features and leaving all around her in darkness. She looked tall and beautiful and terrible beyond anything Frodo could imagine. The hobbit froze in terror and wonder at her appearance and her words.

And her voice came as a thunderstorm, “In place of the Dark Lord you will set up a Queen.”

From seemingly nowhere, a great wind arose and whipped around the garden where they stood. It was bitterly cold, and Frodo could not help but wrap his shirt tighter around him as best he could. In doing so, he tucked the Ring away, kept tight in his fist.

Her voice continued, heedless of the wind, “And I shall not be dark, but beautiful and terrible as the Morning and the Night!”

The wind was incredibly strong now and Frodo had to flatten himself out on the ground to keep from being picked up by it. Even that would not have worked if they hadn’t been in the slight shelter of the enclosed garden. He could hear the trees around them cracking, branches being torn off, crashing to the ground. And now it was joined by a thrashing, cutting rain.

Galadriel paid it no attention. Her voice roared stronger than the wind, “Fair as the Sea and the Sun and the Snow upon the Mountain! Dreadful as the Storm and the Lightning!”

Now it came, as she spoke the word. Lightning like the volleys of a god rained down upon the forest, igniting tree and bush and flet. Frodo tried to call out to her, to raise her attention to what she was doing, but his voice vanished as it passed his lips.

But hers raged on, “Stronger than the foundations of the earth. All shall love me and despair!”

Then she was done. The wind and rain and all the weather fell away the moment she dropped her arms. Her face was tranquil, and suddenly she laughed. Frodo started, surprised by the utterance, and by her soft, sad words.

“I pass the test,” she said, “I will diminish, and go into the West, and remain Galadriel.”

Finally, she noticed the strange, frightened look of the hobbit, and that made her aware of all else around her. The forest was in shambles, trees destroyed, burning, torn. Elves ran here and there, putting out fires and rescuing people from under fallen stones and branches. Her eyes went back to meet Frodo’s, and he saw in them something he did not expect: embarrassment.

**

A/N: All dialogue in this chapter is quoted from the book, page 356.

 


	6. The Return of Boromir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Series of short stories that explore how the story might have been different if certain characters had the powers of Marvel characters. I know, sounds silly, but just give it a chance. These don't follow, really, because they couldn't all happen in the same universe. Obviously, they're AU, as well. There's also some OOCness in some of them, but that's because I blend the character's personalities a bit sometimes, too.

**

The Return of Boromir

**

The horn-blast rang out through the trees. Boromir fought like the warrior he was, defending Merry and Pippin with all his strength against an onslaught of orcs until finally his horn was cleaved, his sword broken, and he fell at the feet of the two hobbits, pierced by many arrows.

“No!” shouted the little ones, raising their voices and their swords against the crashing waves of the enemy. But to no avail. After a fierce, but ultimately futile struggle, alone against an overwhelming foe, the hobbits were hefted, one after the other, into the hard, greasy arms of orcs.

Merry flailed about, striking where he could, but no vulnerability was clear to him. The orc answered his blows with a terse smack to the head. It was light for the orc, he could tell, but he reeled from it and felt blood stream down his face. His consciousness nearly slipped from him, and as he struggled to hold onto it, he was faintly aware of something. The orc had stopped moving.

It stood there, mid-stride, with a blade protruding from its back. No, wait. Three blades. Merry craned his head to see and he thought he must already have fainted. What he saw there must be a dream, for it was Boromir, alive, and angry. Suddenly, Merry fell from the orc’s grasp and landed hard on the ground.

When he looked up, Boromir had his fist pressed against the orc’s chest, and as he watched, the man swiped his hands around, punching at the foe in a strange way. It’s then that Merry noticed that the three blades he had seen were attached somehow to Boromir’s hand, and the other hand bore three more.

He watched as Boromir slashed at the orcs, realizing that Pippin was already safe on the ground nearby, and that the man was slaying any orc that came near them. Boromir was as a madman, with a ferocity he had as yet hidden. In a slow moment, he pulled the last arrow shaft from his body and Merry gaped as the wound closed almost instantly. After Boromir had finished off every orc in sight, he stood, panting, and the blades retracted into his forearms. Finally, from the head trauma and the shock, the hobbit passed out.


	7. Some Say the World Will End...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Series of short stories that explore how the story might have been different if certain characters had the powers of Marvel characters. I know, sounds silly, but just give it a chance. These don't follow, really, because they couldn't all happen in the same universe. Obviously, they're AU, as well. There's also some OOCness in some of them, but that's because I blend the character's personalities a bit sometimes, too.

  
**

Some Say the World Will End...

**

“Merry, how long has it been?”

“Since what, Pippin?”

“Since what? What do you think? Since we’ve been strapped to these orcs.”

“I’m not sure. A few days, I guess.”

“Far too long, I’d say.”

“Too right, Pippin.”

As if on cue, the hoard of Uruk-Hai stopped to make camp for the night at the edge of a forest.

“Now, Merry?”

“Now, Pippin.”

Before the Uruk had the chance to put him down, Pippin tightened his grip on the villain’s neck. It reached back to smack him, but before the arm got there, it froze in mid-air.

No, literally, it froze. With a sickening crackle, the Uruk became one giant popsicle. Pippin snapped the rope that bound his hands (pretty easy now that they, too, were brittle as ice) and hopped to the ground.

He smiled at Merry, whose Uruk was now a smoking pile of ash. Merry grinned playfully and blew out a small flame that lingered on his fingertip.

Sharing a gleeful look, they turned back to back to face the orcs and Uruks that, already surrounding them, finally noticed what had happened. Then Merry burst into flames and Pippin morphed into a moving ice sculpture.

The orcs fell on them like a wave, howling and clanging their armor. Merry reached out and a column of fire spewed from his hand, throwing several orcs back a dozen feet, where they landed as charred skeletons. Pippin just pointed to the orc nearest him and an icicle shot out like an arrow and pierced the orc’s neck.

For about a minute, it was a wild scene: orcs screaming, hobbits laughing, fireballs flying, frozen Uruks being shattered by their own fellows. It might seem easy that the cousins would have hurt each other, but, whether by practice or nature, they didn’t. They had finished off a quarter of their enemy when they heard the blast of a horn.

The orcs turned to face the Riders that bore down on them now, running to them partly out of lust for battle and partly out of desire for one they could win. Merry made to chase after the orcs, but Pippin grabbed his wrist, the contact of ice and fire strangely doing nothing to either.

“Wait, Merry,” he insisted, “They won’t get far.” He looked to the treeline, where one lone orc was heading for the forest. “Let’s get that one.”

Merry nodded, but instead of running after it, he created a fireball, aimed with all the precision a hobbit possesses, and threw it. The hobbits whooped in victory when the fireball hit the orc and flame spread across its back. Then the screaming orc continued running into the forest and they stopped cheering.

“Merry?”

“Yes?”

“That’s not good.”

They sprinted forward, charging into the forest. When they broke the treeline, it wasn’t hard to find the orc. It was still screaming and running around, flailing wildly, trying to put the fire out but setting every tree alight in the process.

“Yipe!” Pippin yelled, then looked at his cousin in panic, “Merry, your fire! You’ll make it worse!”

Realizing he was already singeing the grass, Merry returned to his normal state while Pippin ran after the orc. With a quick blast of cold air, the younger hobbit extinguished the orc, who was already well beyond saving. As he tried his best to put the tree fires out, Merry heard a booming voice behind him.

“Hoom! What orc magic is this?!”

Merry turned to see that a tree behind him had come alive and was talking, and it looked very angry. Startled and unable to stop himself, his flames exploded from his body. He threw his hands up to ward the tree off, but inadvertently sent out a shower of fire. Treebeard howled in pain and anger and Merry, now startled at his own response, yanked his arms away from pointing at the ent. Unfortunately, he didn’t look to see where they were now pointing or see that the flaming was turned off and he proceeded to send fire to the trees on either side of him.

By the time Pippin turned back to him with a satisfied smile, one side of the forest was frozen while the other was burning. When he saw even more fire, he panicked again, but didn’t have time to do so properly when he heard a voice yell out through the forest.

“What have you two done?!”

Suddenly there was a bright light and they could make out a robe and a staff. Before letting the light subside or the voice say any more, Pippin shouted, “The white wizard!” and blasted the figure with freezing air. He didn’t stop blasting until the wizard was encased in a block of ice.

When they saw the face of the stranger through the ice, they were so terrified and ashamed and just generally stunned that Merry’s self-fire fizzled out and Pippin’s ice visage evaporated away. Gandalf’s glowering face stared back at them. They were certainly happy he was back, but they were terrified at what he might now do to them when he worked his way out of the ice, as it was clear he was already doing.

“This isn’t good, Pippin.”

“I’m afraid there’s more bad news, Merry.”

“What’s that?”

“You burned off all your clothes again.”  



	8. The White Worm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Series of short stories that explore how the story might have been different if certain characters had the powers of Marvel characters. I know, sounds silly, but just give it a chance. These don't follow, really, because they couldn't all happen in the same universe. Obviously, they're AU, as well. There's also some OOCness in some of them, but that's because I blend the character's personalities a bit sometimes, too.

  
**

The White Worm

**

The light was brilliant. Nearly too brilliant for him to stand. He cowered and squinted, sneering at the wizard. What did that meddler think he was doing? How dare he wear those robes? There was only one white wizard and it was not Stormcrow! And now he comes in here and disrupts the peace Gríma had worked so hard to cultivate in this hall, rousing the king from such a carefully-laid apathy. That would not happen!

Before the light faded from Gandalf’s newly-revealed white robes, Gríma leaped off the floor, lunging at the wizard before any could stop him. Gandalf must have been very distracted by the state of Théoden in that moment, for his mouth dropped open in shock when he felt the hands of Wormtongue on his head and face.

The light instantly subsided and the hall returned to normal illumination. Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli ran forward and grabbed the Worm, trying to wrench him away from Gandalf, who stood frozen, his eyes twitching, the veins in his face and neck prominent. But they could not tear Gríma away. He held onto the wizard with a superhuman strength that seemed only to grow the longer he held. Finally, Gimli punched Wormtongue in the kidneys hard enough to loosen the villain’s grip and they all sprawled backward onto the floor.

Gandalf collapsed onto the steps of the dais. The Three Hunters were on their feet in a moment. Legolas ran to help Gandalf while Aragorn, Gimli, and now many of the Rohirrim drew their swords and circled around the crouching form of Gríma.

The Worm was changed. His hair had turned white, as had all his previously-dark clothing. He stood slowly, a twisted smile on his lips. Legolas reported that Gandalf was unmoving, but alive. No one paid much attention. Wormtongue turned his head, looked to where Gandalf lay. He held out his hand and the white staff flew into his grasp.

Stunned, Aragorn hesitated a moment, then charged at Gríma, sword raised. He only got a step before Gríma swung the staff and, without touching him, sent Aragorn hurtling toward the far wall. Gimli and several men attempted the same, only to be knocked back themselves as Wormtongue swung the staff, his white, greasy hair whipping around his head.

It would not last, Gríma knew. Soon the wizard would regain the power he sapped from him and both would return to normal. He must make the most of this advantage while he could. With a mocking nod to Legolas (the only one of his enemies not sprawled on the floor at that moment), he ran to the doorway of Meduseld. His white cloak flying behind him and untouched by the arrows that soon chased him out, he fled down the steps of the Golden Hall, out of sight, flying toward his master, the real white wizard. Saruman would not be pleased that he lost his influence with Théoden, but perhaps he could placate him with this little token. Gríma grinned. After all, a wizard could always use another staff.

 


	9. Shieldmaiden's Mystique

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Series of short stories that explore how the story might have been different if certain characters had the powers of Marvel characters. I know, sounds silly, but just give it a chance. These don't follow, really, because they couldn't all happen in the same universe. Obviously, they're AU, as well. There's also some OOCness in some of them, but that's because I blend the character's personalities a bit sometimes, too.

**

Shieldmaiden’s Mystique

**

Night had fallen and the Rohirrim had made camp for the night. The road to Helm’s Deep was a long one and (with the exception of the riders) the people were unused to such travel. Aragorn had been keeping watch until Legolas convinced him to go to bed and let others handle it.

He lay now in his tent, eyes closed, unable to find sleep. Anxiety over the fate of these people and the battle they must soon face clouded his mind. He thought of Théoden’s plan, wondering if it would really work, and of Théoden’s men, hoping they were strong enough to face what was coming...and of Théoden’s niece.

Éowyn was a beautiful, strong, and noble woman. Any other man would have counted it a rare honor to be looked upon with such eyes as she gave him. She felt things for him, he knew, and had things been different, he might very well grow to return those feelings. But his heart was claimed long before she was even born.

“What troubles you, my love?” a low, sultry voice curled around his ears like wisps of smoke.

It was her. But how could she be here? He must have fallen into another dream. He smiled lazily as she slipped into the tent, her purple gown fluttering in some imagined wind.

“Arwen,” he whispered, “You are not here.”

“No,” she replied, kneeling beside him, “I am leaving, remember? As you told me.”

He turned away, despite himself. His will and his desire were conflicting, and she could tell. She leaned over him, resting her arm on his chest, stroking his hair with her other hand.

“Be at peace,” she whispered to him, “This is the way it must be. I will go and be with my people. And you will remain, and find another to be with.”

He looked into the deep pools of her eyes, “How can I?”

“You must,” she bent her head low, so that she spoke directly into his ear, “I wish it.”

With one hand, he reached up and caressed the back of her head, then pulled her down into a kiss. It was sweet and tender, and after several long moments, she pulled back and said to him, “It is over.”

She stood and he moved to follow, but she pushed him down gently, saying, “I must go, and you cannot follow.” She glided out of the tent and Aragorn’s eyes drifted closed.

Outside, the night was dark and there were few still awake. There were none that saw the elf maid exit the tent, as there were none that saw the strange blue ripple pass over her, like a wave of needles, as she transformed into her true shape. The woman smiled and licked her lips once, then returned to her tent between those of her brother and the king.

 


	10. Prelude to a Red Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Series of short stories that explore how the story might have been different if certain characters had the powers of Marvel characters. I know, sounds silly, but just give it a chance. These don't follow, really, because they couldn't all happen in the same universe. Obviously, they're AU, as well. There's also some OOCness in some of them, but that's because I blend the character's personalities a bit sometimes, too.

**

Prelude to a Red Dawn

**

The rain poured down on the heads of the men of Rohan. The army of orcs and Uruk-Hai stomped toward them like oil spreading across the beach. At the top of the Deeping Wall, Aragorn stood beside Théoden, his face betraying no emotion. It was a dark night. One suited for such a battle. And tomorrow a red sun would rise.

The black army stopped within bowshot of the wall. Archers were ordered to draw their arrows, but not to fire. The orcs did nothing. The men on the wall grew restless. What were they waiting for?

Beside Aragorn stood Gandalf. He had not left as he considered doing, but thought they would need him here. He did not tell them why, but the moment was soon at hand that they would see.

The orcs began pounding the ground in an intimidating war-chant. Some men trembled, convincing themselves it was from the cold. If it was possible, Aragorn’s face grew even more resolved. Legolas aimed his bow. Gimli howled. And Gandalf smiled.

Sensing the orcs would not wait much longer, Aragorn raised his arm to signal the attack. But before he could drop it, Gandalf raised his as well.

The old wizard reached his hand out toward the invaders, palm upward as if in offering. Then with one slow motion, he closed his fist.

At first, the sound was nothing. Just the scraping and twisting of metal like was already being heard by the movements of the armor. Then came the cries. Orcs groaned in pain, then the groaning turned into bellowing. All of them, at nearly the same moment, faltered and collapsed to the ground in agony.

The Rohirrim watched in horror and wonder at what was happening. Without firing a single arrow, they seemed to be winning this battle. But how?

The orcs dropped their weapons, all thought of fighting forgotten. Their armor was biting into legs, ribs, shoulders. They did not know what power was causing the metal to crumple like paper in a fire, but it didn’t matter. It was happening nonetheless.

The sound of pain grew to a cacophonous rage – and then it stopped. There was no more sound but a few clinks of metal crashing to the ground. The men looked down at their fallen enemy, onto what was a gruesome sight indeed.

Every orc and Uruk-Hai had been crushed inside his own armor, his head popped like a grape by his own contracting helmet. They were too strong to acknowledge the pain while something could be done and by the time they’d wanted to, it was too late.

So, blood soaked the ground, after all, but not a drop of it was man’s. The victors rejoiced. And Gandalf lowered his hand.

 


	11. Night-Crawlers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Series of short stories that explore how the story might have been different if certain characters had the powers of Marvel characters. I know, sounds silly, but just give it a chance. These don't follow, really, because they couldn't all happen in the same universe. Obviously, they're AU, as well. There's also some OOCness in some of them, but that's because I blend the character's personalities a bit sometimes, too.

**

Night-Crawlers

**

Sam struck the web again. Just as before, his sword only bounced off the thread. He tried again and again as Frodo held the star-glass high in his three-fingered hand. The light of Eärendil shone brightly down the passage and cast an eerie glow on Frodo’s blue skin. He was dark enough that even with the light he could have hidden, if he wished, but what hunted them did not rely on sight. He saw the glint of eyes behind him and knew the spider was not far off. Frodo turned from the tunnel to look out through the webs. He could see the outer world beyond, just past the impassable netting.

“It’s no use,” Sam told him, “We can’t get through.”

“But it’s the only way,” Frodo said, fear rising in his voice.

There was a long pause as Sam stopped chopping at the webs. He turned and looked seriously at Frodo, brown eyes meeting yellow ones in a wordless suggestion.

“No, Sam,” Frodo told him, his voice almost a whisper, “I can’t.”

“You must, Mr. Frodo,” Sam insisted, “It’s the only way.”

“But I couldn’t take you with me,” Frodo continued, “I don’t know how.”

“Never mind that,” said Sam, “You just do what you must. It’s most important that you get through.”

Frodo put his hand on his friend’s shoulder, his tail unconsciously wrapping around Sam’s back in a strange gesture of comfort. “I won’t leave you, Sam,” he said firmly, “Now help me think of a way through–”

A string of webbing shot out through the tunnel, hitting Sam, knocking him back into the webs that blocked their path. Startled, Frodo dropped the phial. He spun to see Shelob barreling down on them. He could scarce raise his sword before she was upon him.

He didn’t mean to do it. It was a reaction, an instinct he could no more control at that moment than to blink if a bug flew in his eye. The great she-spider lunged to bite him when there was a loud *bamf!* and the smell of sulfur filled the tunnel, and he was gone. It wasn’t until he found himself outside the tunnel, on the other side of the web passage, that he realized what had happened.

“No! Sam!” he shouted, and ran the dozen or so yards back to the cave entrance. He could see his friend through the webs, trapped, but the light still shone, however dimly and ill-aimed. It was just barely enough to keep Shelob at bay as he struggled in her web. Knowing he’d be killed if he tried to teleport back in, Frodo did the only thing he could think of. He started hacking away at the webs from his side with Sting. To his surprise, it worked. The cords were cut by the elvish blade as easily as hair by a barber’s scissors.

“Mr. Frodo! Help!” Sam yelled, despite his previous insisting that Frodo go on without him.

“I’m coming, Sam,” Frodo called back to him as he slashed his way through the webs, “I’m coming!”  
  



	12. Level Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Series of short stories that explore how the story might have been different if certain characters had the powers of Marvel characters. I know, sounds silly, but just give it a chance. These don't follow, really, because they couldn't all happen in the same universe. Obviously, they're AU, as well. There's also some OOCness in some of them, but that's because I blend the character's personalities a bit sometimes, too.

  
**

Level Two

**

“Sixty-eight! Sixty-nine!” the voice of Legolas rang out above the clamor of battle, “What are you at, Gimli?”

The dwarf smiled that slightly psychotic smile of one who enjoyed this a little too much, “I’m at eighty-four!”

“What?” Legolas yelled as he sliced another orc with his knife, “Impossible!”

“I’m afraid not, Master Elf,” Gimli replied, bashing an enemy with his axe, “Eighty-five!”

Legolas stopped. Seeing the look in his eyes, Gimli faltered. The ordinarily stoic and together elf was looking downright...angry. Seething, even. His eyes were wide with fury and he spoke through clenched teeth, “I will not be bested in battle by a dwarf!”

The orcs around him ceased their attack when they saw the elf’s transformation. His shoulders rose and fell heavily with his breathing. His pale skin turned a bright shade of green. His slender frame began to fill out and his clothing burst with his bulging muscles. In moments, he was not the elf he had been before. He was a green, hulking monster of a thing.

With a feral yell, he started grabbing orcs and throwing them into each other, ripping arms off some and beating them with them. A passing oliphaunt made the mistake of swinging its trunk too near Legolas and the elf grabbed it and swung. The oliphaunt flew through the air like a sling, roaring in protest at its strange plight. Its riders were flung off before the beast was hurled out toward one of the enemy’s catapults, crushing the machine to splinters.

“Leggy smash!” the elf yelled to no one in particular. All the enemies around him now retreated to anywhere else. The dwarf just huffed.

“So we’re playing it that way, are we?” he asked, then smiled. Before the orcs knew what was happening, Gimli had ceased to be flesh and bone and had apparently become made of metal. He shone as silver in the sunlight, which may have been the reason for the twinkle in his eye. “Good.” And that’s when the competition really heated up.

 

 


	13. the key

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Series of short stories that explore how the story might have been different if certain characters had the powers of Marvel characters. I know, sounds silly, but just give it a chance. These don't follow, really, because they couldn't all happen in the same universe. Obviously, they're AU, as well. There's also some OOCness in some of them, but that's because I blend the character's personalities a bit sometimes, too.

  
**

Key

**

For anyone who didn't recognize the Marvel character's power concerned, here you go:

Ch. 1 – Aragorn as Cyclops  
Ch. 2 – Sam as Gambit  
Ch. 3 – Elrond as Professor X  
Ch. 4 – Haldir as Daredevil  
Ch. 5 – Galadriel as Storm  
Ch. 6 – Boromir as Wolverine  
Ch. 7 – Merry as The Human Torch  
Pippin as Iceman  
Ch. 8 – Gríma as Rogue  
Ch. 9 – Éowyn as Mystique  
Ch. 10 – Gandalf as Magneto  
Ch. 11 – Frodo as Nightcrawler  
Ch. 12 – Legolas as The Hulk  
Gimli as Colossus  



End file.
